The Quiz
by Shotzette
Summary: A magazine quiz makes Shirley take stock of her life. Slash.


The Quiz

By Shotzette

PG-13

L/S

Post Reunion Show

_Relax, it's only a fanfic. It doesn't stand a snowball's chance in Hell of infringing on anyone's copyrights or intellectual properties. _

Shirley Feeney-Meaney had been chewing the eraser tip of her pencil for a good half a minute before she realized it. Not smart for a girl without decent dental insurance, she thought then chuckled at the absurdity of it. A girl. At the age of sixty-two, she was still referring to herself as a girl. For her mother's generation, it wouldn't have been a big deal. For women her age, who had settled into the lives they'd always wantedbeen told to want, just as the feminist movement took hold and turned society on it's ear, it was laughable.

To Shirley, it was merely one more of life's little absurdities. Much like the _Cosmopolitan_ quiz she was taking. Deep down, she knew it was ridiculous. Quizzes like these pandered to her insecurities, they always had. Only the titles had changed over the years, from "What Should You Do to Land Mr. Right?" to "Are You Ready for a Threesome?"

Still, they were as irresistable to her today as they were when she, Laverne, and Anne Marie furtively passed around their first copy of _True Confessions _in the girl's bathroom back at Fillmore High. Always four questions; A, B, C, and Dnone of the above. She was mildly surprised that the pattern never changed, given the various twists and turns the world had taken since her sophomore year in high school. Then again, human nature never really changed. Just people's willingness to express themselves, and the size of their audiencethank you, Internet!

Shirley re-read the title with a grin, "Have You Found Your Soulmate?"

_Question Number One: Have you shared your life's ambition with your Soulmate?_

Carmine Ragusa had always thought her biggest ambition was to remain a virgin until her wedding night; a night spent with her handsome, rich, doctor-husband. It never stopped him from trying, though...

Walter had always thought he'd provided her the means to fulfill her ambition; the two story colonial in the suburbs, the three kids, the station wagon with the wood panelling on the side, and the collie named Dave. He's just never factored in the mind-numbingly lonely part.

She didn't think either one of them could have ever understood how her new job as a receptionist at the animal shelter had given her sense of purpose and fulfillment she'd never known before Long hours, low pay, and coming home to the apartment she shared with Laverne in tears from the cruelty of humanity and nature, still gave her more reason to get up in the morning than any challenges preceding it ever had.

_Question Number Two: Can you count on your Soulmate in times of strife?_

Carmine and strife? He'd always been there for her. For a while, at least. He was an expert at riding into her various crises like a night on a white charger. Sir Carmine would bravely slay the dragon, get a little second-base action from the princessand then runn off to the castle of Queen Lucille, the Wicked Divorcee. It was always a cross between a fairytale and a soap opera with him. He'd always been there for the highs and lows, he just couldn't seem to hang around for the in betweens.

Walter had never acknowledged strife. Everything had been a challenge, something to overcome or conquer. "Buck up, sweetheart. Pull yourself up by your bootstraps." Then the good doctor would write her another Valium prescription and everything would seem to be fine. For a while, anyhow.

Strife. Just a fancy word for pain, in her opinion. The pain of a miscarriage, a divorce, of one's children's shortcomings, of serious illness, of growing old... Only a real friend had seen her through those traumas.

_Question Number Three: Is it more than just good sex?_

Bad question, Shirley thought, it should always be great sex. She wondered if Carmine would have been good, not that she would have known with her lack of experience. She imagined that he would have been all sound and fury; hopefully signifying more than nothing. She would have been a conquest, a goal, and acheivement; but afterwords?

It would have ended them. Deep down, she had always known it. There were only two types of girls for guys like himmost guys back then, she amended charitably. Those who "did" and those who "didn't". Men could have it both ways, womenGirls, she corrected herself, couldn't. Once a girl crossed the line, there was no going back. Ever.

Walter. Well, Walter had always wanted children. And he knew that there was only one way to make them. Sex between them had always been purposeful, if not passionate. Then again, with her lack of experience, how was she to know? How times had changed... When they'd been dating, Shirley had always beleived that he'd kept his hands to himself out of respect. Little had she known it was a lack of interest. She felt sorry for him most days. Had Walter been born twenty years later, he may have had a more tolerant world live in, one that wouldn't have judged him too harshly for his preferences. Instead, he spent most of his lifeand all of their marriage in an ever spiralling descent into self loathing. The last time she'd seen him, at their youngest son's wedding, she'd barely recognized the bitter and lonely man, who had aged beyond his years. The sad irony of it all overwhelmed her momentarily, and she lay the magazine down on the battered coffee table.

A loud, scuffling noise at the front door startled her. A moment later, Laverne stumbled through, several grocery bags in hands as she tried to pull the stuck key from the lock of their front door.

"Need a hand?" Shirley offered, as she patently ignored the exasperated rolling of Laverne's eyes.

"Ya think?"

Shirley liberated the rapidly ripping plastic bag from her roomate's grasp. "I don't know why you always get the plastic bags," she groused, "they're bad for the environment and they always rip," she grumbled as an assortment of cans and boxes clattered onto the kitchen counter.

"The paper ones rip too," Laverne whined, "and they don't have handles, something I needed since I had six bags and was all by myself..."

The kiss cut her off in mid sentence.

"What was that for?" Laverne's green eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Nothing," Shirley replied, as she drew her lover more tightly into her embrace, "and everything. Do you still want to gripe about grocery bags?" Her voice took on a throaty tone, an invitation that left nothing to the imagination.

Laverne pretended to think it over for nearly two seconds before shaking her head and returning the embrace.

FIN


End file.
